


hold your mouth to mine

by lily rose (annabeth)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boys Kissing, Explicit Language, Incest, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24459961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/lily%20rose
Summary: The flush of red on Dean's chest feels hot, like the sun on the back of his hand the one time Sam went to the beach.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	hold your mouth to mine

**Author's Note:**

> this is old fic. Just reposting here because I like it. (~2010) Title from Moby. Written (originally) for porn friday on LJ.

The flush of red on Dean's chest feels hot, like the sun on the back of his hand the one time Sam went to the beach. The equally red stain of his lips, swollen and parted on his breath, makes Sam want to touch so _badly_ , but—he stops himself, still skating his hands across Dean's chest. The smooth hard planes feel incredible under his hands, lodge in his throat.

He presses down, and Dean's breath escapes in a sibilant hiss, his head tilting back against the pillow, the cherry of his cheekbones stark and startling against the white cotton. Sam closes his eyes, still ghosting his fingers over Dean's bare torso, inhaling sharply and taking in the scent of leather and sweat, the faint musky aroma of his cock, still trapped in his boxer briefs.

Without opening his eyes, Sam's hands find Dean's face, stroke across the bones of his cheeks, and he lowers his head and finds Dean's lips with nothing but body memory; soft and so warm, a flutter against his as Dean breathes. Sam opens his mouth, sucks Dean's lower lip in-between his teeth, worrying it with the sharp edges of enamel.

He tilts his head, slowly dips into Dean's mouth, tasting the liquor they'd drunk and the pretzels Dean had consumed, licks Dean's mouth from the inside out, lifts his head and finally, finally opens his eyes, to meet Dean's.

Dean's green eyes are so wide, like drowning in a mossy lake, and Sam exhales, his breath disturbing Dean's eyelashes as they skitter against his cheeks in rapid succession. Sam ducks his head again, traces the outline of Dean's perfect lips with his tongue, then drags it up over Dean's cheek, still so hot—hot like laundry fresh from the dryer. He reaches Dean's eyelids, which shutter, and then he places his slightly open mouth over one lid, barely there pressure against the thin, delicate skin, and Dean gasps, a fine tremor starting under his skin and spreading throughout his body, and Sam kisses every freckle on Dean's nose without even having to look; he reaches Dean's other eyelid and leaves behind the wet imprint of his mouth.

His hands cling to Dean's skull, the prickle of Dean's hair under his palms, and finds Dean's mouth again. He inhales and takes Dean's breath into his own lungs, holds it there and closes his mouth over Dean's, rubbing their lips together until Dean's—still hot like blacktop in the summer—swell even more under his own. Their mouths slip-slide together with their mingled saliva, and when Sam finally pulls away, all he can feel is the throb of his heart in every pore, beating heavy and loud in his ears, and he takes his time looking at Dean.

"Another," Dean whispers with gravel in his voice. Sam brushes his fingers over Dean's face again, feels the heat radiating from his skin. There's a shine on Dean's lips, a shine in his eyes, so dark with his pupils, and his hands come up, like he's afraid to touch, and slowly, so slowly, he caresses the sides of Sam's face, framing Sam's own blush with the heat of his hands.

"Another," Sam says, desire dripping from the word, and he dips his head down once more.

Dean's lips, this time, are the hot and swollen of a fever, and all Sam can think, surrounded by the scent of Dean's body, the feel of the sharp cut of his hipbones under cotton, is that this _is_ a fever that he can never bring down, a thirst he can never quench, as he tries to drink it from Dean's lips and soothe the scorching brushfire that is sweeping through his body.

end.


End file.
